A Man And His Father
by octocelot
Summary: Draco learns about forgiveness when he picks his father up from Azkaban.


**Written for QLFC Round 7 as Keeper of the Arrows (prompt: Lucius/Draco)**

 **Written for Caesar's Palace Prompts (prompt: peaceful)**

 **Written for Sophie's Bookshop Challenge [Orange is the New Black] (prompts: orange, set story within a jail/prison, scandal)**

 **WC: 1143**

* * *

Azkaban was worse than what the papers said about it. Even without the Dementors, it was still draining to the people in it. Since he'd lived in the Slytherin dungeons for so many years, Draco usually found the sound of water relaxing, but the crashes of the waves against the shore here were enough to drive him mad.

He stared between the bars that separated him from what he once considered his happiness, but he saw nothing familiar.

"Father."

Lucius Malfoy lay on a table inside the cell, his hands folded neatly on his stomach. His eyes were closed and his face relaxed, as if he were asleep.

Draco heard footsteps behind him, then a, "I'm sorry that you have to see your father this way. After someone escaped by pretending to be dead, we've had to keep them in their cells. The Aurors weren't very competent."

Draco turned and met the eyes of a young Auror. "I understand." But was it understandable? Was it fair for him to see his father this way for the first time after decades apart?

"I'll give you a moment alone, then," the Auror said. She nodded, turned on her heel, and went back to her station. Draco wasn't really left alone, as she had stopped behind the doorway that separated this section of the dungeon from the main hall. She was close enough to see Draco and within range to shoot a hex if he somehow managed some wandless magic. More importantly to him, she was within earshot.

He felt pricking at the back of his eyes and felt his stomach sink in surprise at his own reaction. When he had received the letter inviting him to remove his father's body, the first thing he did was take his glasses off his weary eyes. Immediately after, he told Astoria and his mother. Then, he sat on his sofa in the parlor and opened the paper to the advertisements.

He hadn't expected to feel sorry.

The atmosphere and the reality of seeing Lucius again was too much. Draco stayed where he was, a safe distance from the bars that separated him from his father. He shoved his sweaty hands in his pockets. The silk felt familiar, and he clung to that feeling as he tried to figure out how to say hello and goodbye at the same time.

 _Father_ , he tried to say, but not sound came. He licked his dry lips and swallowed, his throat burning. "Father."

 _It has been a while_ , he wanted to say. _You missed a lot._

It would be polite to ask someone how they were doing after saying hello to them, but Draco guessed that he hadn't missed much from his father's life. There wasn't much to do on a barren island, and even less in captivity on a barren island.

But his father… he had missed so much.

Wisps of times past passed through the front of Draco's mind like a quickly moving slideshow. A woman in a white dress, his mother covering his hands with her wrinkled ones, a smile so wide Draco couldn't mimic it if he tried, a paycheck, another one, a promotion, the first wails of a child, the coos of a swaying lullaby…

The steps Draco took towards the bars were crisp taps against the stone floor, hesitant and reluctant. He stopped half a meter away, unsure if he should continue.

"Father," he started again. Still, he could not find the words. They were somewhere in the recesses of his brain, and they desired to be said. Draco wanted to believe that he was smart enough to remember them.

There had been little love left between them when Lucius was convicted for a third time. Draco went to the trial to honor his family and keep up appearances, but he didn't feel much more than a prick of pain when his father was taken off the stand, eyes wild. The expression on Lucius's face said that he knew he wasn't coming back again.

 _Terrible_ , Draco had thought. The Malfoy name would be raked through the mud once again through scandal.

Draco lay down in his bed that night, staring up at his canvass of a ceiling, piecing together the memories of the day… His father's usual bored tone of voice, the bang of the gavel, the swishing of robes, his creaking seat, the prim voice of the woman who announced, 'guilty.'

When he thought of the look on his father's face, he felt something rustle deep in his chest. It was pity.

But that was years ago.

Now, Draco was around the same age that Lucius was when he was convicted, and Lucius looked like what Draco's grandfather had in his last days.

When Draco took his next steps towards the bars, he wasn't sure what came over him. Perhaps he was influenced by the dim light in the dungeons, the dripping of water into a pail in the corner, or the lull of the waves. Perhaps he was influenced by the bout of madness that overcomes a person who doesn't know what to say.

Draco furrowed his brow. He whispered, determined to try to say hello again. He hadn't forgotten his manners. "Father…"

He rested his fingers delicately against the bars of the cell and stood there for a moment, taking in the coolness of the metal on his skin and the harshness of the yellow-orange artificial light lingering on his father's form. Draco shivered.

There, Lucius lay, head tipped back and spine straight. The cell felt small enough to be his coffin, and he looked ready to sleep on that bench for the rest of eternity. Draco felt aware of every movement around him and every sensation against his skin as he thought of how time seemed to stop here. Here, a place where nothing noticeable changed except the length one's own fingernails.

Draco observed his father's features, both the new ones like his wrinkles, drooping mouth, and white hair, and the old ones like his high cheekbones. He wondered if anything else had changed within his father while he served his time. The serene peace on Lucius's face was definitely new. Draco only hoped that it had also come to him while he was still alive.

Perhaps he was influenced the dripping of water into the pail in the corner, the wind outside, or the lull of the waves, but they intertwined into a single rhythm, and all his thoughts turned towards his father's pale face and the pulse in his ears.

He curled his fingers around the bars of the cell, feeling a bit sick that he was thrusting a part of himself into the scene of stillness. With a quick breath, Draco spoke loudly, finally. "Auror, ma'am?"

The Auror peeked around the corner. "Mister Malfoy?"

"I think we're ready to go."


End file.
